


All the World, a Stage

by shipcat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action, Arguments about art, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Deidara wants validation, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sasori is an ungrateful bastard, Violence, lol nope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat
Summary: “Art is… a performance,” Sasori suddenly said, arms shaking as he pressed his blade deeper into Sakura’s gut. She groaned in pain, but steadily pushed back on the hilt of the sword, her fingers crushing his own wooden ones into splinters.Click click. Crack.[Deidara, returning from the battle with Kakashi and Naruto, saves Sasori’s life.]





	All the World, a Stage

**Author's Note:**

> For anon request - Sasori and Deidara, “I saved you a seat,” number 87 from the prompt list - “[100 Ways to Say I Love You."](http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)

Dust twirled in the air of the destroyed Akatsuki base, settling on the crumbled boulders and the heaving chests of three near-dead combatants. The shadow of a bird circled around the battlefield, passing over broken canisters, torn red cloaks, and shattered wooden faces - a vulture waiting for its afternoon meal.

“Art is… a performance,” Sasori suddenly said, arms shaking as he pressed his blade deeper into Sakura’s gut. She groaned in pain, but steadily pushed back on the hilt of the sword, her fingers crushing his own wooden ones into splinters. _Click click. Crack._

“One that doesn’t end.”

He peered over the wilting Sakura’s shoulders, gaze lingering over the blade as it slid out of her back, coated equally in blood and poison. A flick of his chakra strings and his glass eyes swiveled over to his grandmother, watching in horror, her skin clammy as the toxins drifted along her bloodstream and wreaked havoc on her organ system.

 _She is dying,_ Sasori realized. Something like a laugh bubbled up in his throat. _Good._

“Drink in every detail of this moment, Granny Chiyo,” he gloated. “I want you to know how it feels.” Chiyo, ever obstinate, refused to look at them, and instead collapsed onto the ground. Sakura gritted her teeth, and began pulling the sword out of her body.  He paid them no mind. What did they know of true art? True _beauty_?

“The ache. The suffering. The agony of being left behind…” Sasori paused, looking over at the mountains of wooden and steel corpses littering the earth. One, a ninja from the mist who glared fiercely as he activated his ice bloodline; a second with painted lips on a porcelain face, a civilian who had made the simple mistake of smiling at a stranger; plus ninety-eight others, each with their own stories immortalized in sculptures of bones and oak - one hundred broken souls in total. Soon to be 102.

“Remember that pain, Granny. Remember.”  He leaned in towards Sakura, voice tickling her ear. “Because when you become a part of my collection, I will take it all away.” His glass eyes lit up. “I will make you perfect. I will make you perform, and you will see - you will see the true meaning of art!”

Sakura grimaced as he twisted the sword into her side,  shuddering with light green chakra as her body struggled to heal itself.  “Y-you… bastard…” her brows furrowed in rage. “Like hell you will!”

Below him, Sakura let go of the blade, grabbed his wrist and squeezed, splitting the wood in halves. Sasori detached his arm, jumped back, and retreated to the higher ground, a knife sliding out of the hollow of his elbow.

Safe for the moment, Sakura fell to the ground, one hand clutched at her side. Her leather gloves squeaked as her hands curled into fists. She did not react as Chiyo injected her with the antivenom, eyes transfixed on the puppet master.

Wind whipped about him, tossing his crimson cloak to and fro. His joints rattled as the chakra strings under his skin morphed his face into one of rage.

 _“You don’t deserve my gift,”_ Sasori said, looking down on them. As he stood upon the stone, heart core pulsing and eyes cold, red fluttering about him, he seemed less a puppet and more like the statue of a general before the final charge.

Spring mechanism in his leg coiled tightly. He crouched down and launched himself towards the Leaf and Sand nins - but before he could reach them, something grabbed him by the arm and tossed him into the air and onto a hard clay surface that reeked of poorly made abstract art.

“Deidara!?” He snarled, as he rose unsteadily, stomach coils rolling uncomfortably as the giant stone bird tilted to the side - a phoenix design, he noticed, with small slits where feathered flames burst from the sculpture and propelled them forward.

“Master…hmm.” Deidara replied, sitting cross legged on the plumed head.

“Why did you interfere with my art - and what did you do with your arms!?”

“They’re here and there. Anyway,” Deidara waved an empty sleeve at the spot beside him, “I saved you a seat for the show, hmm.” The phoenix beat its wings enthusiastically, and the resulting blast of air nearly sent Sasori - too used to Hiruko weighing him down - flying. 

Scrambling for purchase, he quickly grabbed Deidara. With his foothold temporarily secured, he focused chakra into his feet and stuck himself to the bird. “A seat? For what show?”

Deidara grunted, but said nothing. Golden strands of hair danced around his face, smeared with soot and sulphur. One chunk of his ponytail was missing entirely, much to Sasori’s irritation, as it made his partner entirely asymmetrical - less worthy of his collection.

Sasori squeezed his partner’s shoulder. “Did you hear me, brat?”

“Just wait, master.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“…hmm, maybe.” His eyes glittered as the phoenix circled around, flame propellers dying down, as they hovered above the entrance to the former Akatsuki base - a Shinto gate with bright red wood that demarcated the borders between the sacred and the obscene.

Within the collapsed cave, in the very spot where Sasori had been before Deidara had swooped down, were his parents - or, rather, the puppet replicas of his parents - lifelessly embracing each other as they stabbed each other in their wooden hearts. It was a trap, and a cruel one at that, obviously intended to pierce his core and kill the puppetmaster. A cruel and ugly death.

“So… you saved my life.” Sasori stated, watching as white scorpions scrittered out from under the rocks, clay stingers twitching as they climbed over puppets towards his grandmother. “Then you understand what true art is?”

“Of course I understand what art is,” Deidara scoffed. “the winter that fades into spring; the moment where a cherry blossom has fully bloomed before it wilts and dies into summer. The red of fall, as everything dies, forcing you to appreciate what you have lost. Right?”

“Wrong.” But Sasori did not push the argument further.

The scorpions swarmed around Chiyo, clinging to Sakura’s limp body. From a distance, he could not tell, but Sasori imagined that his granny crying for this pink-haired stranger, fat tears, red eyes, and boogers and all the other emotions and caring that she had never shown to her grandson. Disgusting.

“How are you going to detonate your bombs without hands?”

“Ah…” Deidara nudged at his clay duffle bag with his knee. “Can I borrow your arm?”

Begrudgingly, Sasori reached into the bag and was barely surprised to find a small scorpion figurine, painted with the kanji of his own name. _Sasori of the Red Sand._  

He turned it around in his hand, observing the carefully sculpted details and shapes without comment. The sculpture was structurally sound and beautifully made. More interesting, however, was the expression on his partner’s face as he leaned towards his master, face bright and shoulders hunched, unsure if Sasori would praise or criticize him. Sasori would give him neither.

After several moments of silence, Deidara hmph’d and turned away, eagerness draining away from his body.  “Just channel your chakra into that, hmm?” He shrugged towards the scorpion. “Then, you know… _boom_!”

Sasori sighed with displeasure. “Just so you know, brat,” he formed a hand seal around the sculpture, pouring his energy into the piece of art. “You will have to pay for my entire collection. All 102 of my puppets - destroyed.”

“Eh?” Deidara’s head snapped towards him. “But I didn’t do anything - they were already ruined!”

_“Katsu!”_

And the world disappeared in a blaze of red and yellow.

**Author's Note:**

> I... love this universe so much, I really want to continue it. 
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a kudos or comment below; or, contact me on Tumblr [@thatshipcat](https://thatshipcat.tumblr.com).


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